


You better watch out

by MsCee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bustin' crime for Santa, Christmas, Christmas folklore, Flying reindeer, Future Fic, He's like a Cristmas hobo, I handle Santa Claus with dignity and aplomb, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, Slow Build, The Belsnickel, utter silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsCee/pseuds/MsCee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is Santa Claus’s reindeer.” Stiles says flatly, leveling Derek with what he hopes is the most irritated stare to ever stare. “This reindeer belongs to Santa. Fucking. Claus.”<br/>“He goes by Kris, actually.”<br/>“Of course he does.”<br/>The reindeer whinnies and chuffs, shaking its mane out. </p><p>Or, wherein Stiles finds a lost reindeer (and can we talk about how lost a reindeer has to get to wind up in California?), and to his chagrin, realizes that it can fly. Because of course it’s one of Santa’s reindeers. And of course it's been stolen by some malevolent Christmas menace. Because this is Stiles’s life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You better not cry

**Author's Note:**

> Oops I did a Christmas. 
> 
> I’m starting to post this now because I want to post once a week, and there are six (completed, so never you worry!) chapters, and that way it will be complete in time for the holidays proper! 
> 
> So yes. Posts will be every Sunday from now until you're lodged so far into holiday spirit you think you'll never see the light of day again.

“Remember when you first got bit and were all ‘there are no wolves in California, Stiles’, and then our lives went to shit?”

“Good morning, Stiles,” Scott’s voice mumbles from the other end of the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, that part was implied. The important bit is, when I say what I’m about to say, _please_ don’t say ‘there are no reindeer in California, Stiles’. Because historically speaking, that would mean I am about to become a were-reindeer and I for one think that would suck ass.”

There is silence on the other end, presumably as Scott catches up with the fact that Stiles is standing on the preserve next to a goddamned _reindeer_ , and it just bit his finger. Hard. It’s probably bleeding, in fact. Or at least bruised. 

“Reindeer?”

“It could also be a caribou?” Stiles considers, eyeing the animal speculatively. It looks supremely unconcerned, and stamps a hoofed foot on the ground. “I’m not exactly an expert on ungulates. I know it’s not a deer. I think. It looks too rugged to be a deer. I mean, it pretty much looks like a reindeer. So I think it’s a reindeer?”

Scott is grumbling, and Stiles hears the rustle of bedsheets and drawers opening and closing.

“I’ll be there in five, Stiles. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“You know, when Derek used to say that, I chalked it up to him being a dick. But apparently it’s an alpha thing, not a Derek thing! We’ll pencil it in next to superhuman strength: ‘condescending inability to trust Stiles’.”

“It’s a being friends with you thing,” Scott mumbles before the line goes dead and Stiles sighs heavily, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

“Looks like it’s just me and you, bud,” he says, turning back to the reindeer. Who promptly turns tail and trots away, deeper into the preserve.

“Hey now, slow down! You’re not allowed to do that. You stay here until Scott shows up. I’m pretty sure letting a reindeer run loose in Beacon Hills falls under the ‘anything stupid’ category, and I’m nothing if not a man of my word. Hey! Come back!”

The reindeer is halfway out of sight now, and Stiles quickens his steps to keep up.

“You’re being an asshole. Nobody likes a douchey reindeer, so stop being a douche and get back here before Scott thinks it’s my fault you left.”

The reindeer ignores him. It’s almost completely out of sight now, but Stiles can faintly see its antlers amidst a tangle of branches, and knows that the damn thing can still hear him. Which would be useful if Stiles could make reindeer calls. Do reindeer even call? Maybe they neigh, like horses? Wait, moose bray, right? Or is it mooses? What a weird word to pluralize. Stiles stops short to repeat the word in his head a few times. It's a _really_ weird word to pluralize, how has he never noticed that before?

Oh, shit, the reindeer is completely out of sight now.

“Come on, man! I thought we had something special!” Stiles shouts, in lieu of impersonating an animal he has never seen before, let alone heard. “You bit my finger off, doesn’t that make us bros for life?”

Stiles hears leaves crunching on the ground behind him, and whirls around, wondering how Scott got here so fast.

Only it’s not Scott.

It’s Derek.

Wearing his patented _what-the-fuck-Stiles_ expression.

“I lost the reindeer!” Stiles explains, a little miffed that Derek is already wearing that face without even waiting to hear why Stiles is calling after his hoofed buddy at 10AM on a Sunday morning. “No, wait. I didn’t lose it. I just lost _sight_ of it. This situation is still 100% under control.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, and folds his arms over his chest. Stiles takes that as a cue to continue, after the requisite 5-second lag for his brain to reboot after seeing Derek’s henley strain against his biceps when he crossed his arms.

“Scott called you about the reindeer, right? That’s why you’re here? Because you were closer than Scott and there is a reindeer in the preserve?”

“Are you high?” Derek asks, looking completely serious and maybe even a bit concerned.

“Am I- what? Of course not! Why would you even ask that? Of course I’m not high, what I am is confused, because there is a fucking _reindeer_ in those trees right now, and it bit me, and reindeer _do not belong in California_ , Derek.”

“Scott didn’t call me. I was driving home from the grocery store when I heard you yelling about asshole reindeer, and figured you had gotten yourself into some kind of ridiculous mess.”

“Ah.” Stiles nods. Well, that explains the expression, at least. “Yes. Well. The thing is, I found a reindeer this morning. And I don’t know why it’s here, but I think it _may_ be supernatural? Seeing as how, y’know, there shouldn’t really be reindeer around here?”

As if on cue, the reindeer trots back into the clearing.

“See? Not crazy. That’s totally a reindeer.”

“It’s probably just lost,” Derek shrugs, looking nonplussed.

“If it’s lost, it’s literally the world’s _worst reindeer_ , because this is pretty fucking lost for an animal to be.”

Derek shrugs again, watching the reindeer as it increases speed and starts to gallop in a wide circle around where Stiles and Derek are standing.

“What’s it doing?” Stiles asks, frowning.

“How the hell should I know?”

“I dunno, you’re both supernatural creatures, sort of?”

“It’s not a supernatural creature, Stiles. It’s just a reindeer.”

The reindeer is charging full speed now, headed straight for where Derek and Stiles are standing.

“Oh shit,” Stiles breathes. “This is how we die, isn’t it. Trampled to death by an angry reindeer.”

“This is how _you_ die, maybe,” Derek grumbles. “I’ll just heal.”

Stiles manages to tear his eyes away from the charging reindeer long enough to squint at Derek.

“You are literally the worst.”

Derek looks unruffled by this judgment.

The galloping is thunderous now, so close that Stiles can do nothing but watch in abject horror as the reindeer approaches and, at the last second, swerves upward.

Wait.

Upward?

“What in the actual _fuck!_ ” Stiles shouts, staring at the reindeer that is now galloping through _thin air_ , trotting in lazy circles _above their heads_. He shoves Derek, hard, then regrets it as pain lances up his arm. Stupid brick wall of abs.

“You said it wasn’t supernatural, you dick!” Stiles shouts angrily, gesturing frantically at the _flying reindeer above them_.

How is this his life?

Derek scrubs a hand over his hair.

“I didn’t even think it could be Kris’s.” Derek sighs, looking annoyed.

“Why would Chris fucking Argent have a flying fucking reindeer?” Stiles screams, still pointing wildly at the reindeer because it is  _still flying_.

Derek scowls at him, and really? He gets a scowl for that? Like he’s supposed to know that Chris has a flying magical pony or whatever bullshit is happening right now?

“Not Chris Argent, you moron.” Derek replies. “It’s Kris with a K.”

“I’m the one who deserves to be called a moron right now? You’re the one who knows someone with flying reindeer _and forgot to mention it,_ asshole.”

Stiles swears that Derek’s lips twitch upward at that.

“What’s so funny?” Stiles asks, eyes narrowed.

“You do know someone with flying reindeer.” Derek responds with a full-on grin. The shit.

“I think I would know if I knew someone with a flying reindeer. Maybe I’ll just call up my good pal Santa Claus and see if he’s got the registry of people he’s loaned his out to, and-”

“See, you know someone with a flying reindeer.” Derek interrupts him.

"Ha ha very funny, asshole. Seriously, though, whose reindeer is it, and can we call them to come get it because there is currently a _reindeer in the sky_ and if people start seeing it that would be _very bad_.”

“I’m not kidding. It’s Kris’s.”

“Great, so call this Kris, and tell him to get his ass to the preserve stat.”

“He lives in Nunavut, so that might take a while.”

“Nunavut? Like, Canada? Who in the actual fuck do you know who lives in Nunavut, and why do they live in _Nunavut_?”

“Well, his workshop is there, where else would he live?”

Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I get it, Santa Claus jokes hardy har. While I love that you’ve recently acquired a sense of humor, albeit cornier than my father’s, I would love it even more if you could call the reindeer’s owner like, yesterday.”

“I’m being serious. That’s whose reindeer this is.”

“This is Santa Claus’s reindeer.” Stiles says flatly, leveling Derek with what he hopes is the most irritated stare to ever stare. “This reindeer belongs to Santa. Fucking. Claus.”

“He goes by Kris. You know, Kris Kringle?”

“ _Of course he does_.”

The reindeer whinnies and chuffs, shaking its mane out above their heads. 


	2. You better not shout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day early because I love you all SO much. :)

“Right. So I’ve called this pack meeting because Santa Claus is real.”

When the pack collectively rolls their eyes, Stiles realizes that his opener might have been a little excessive.

Whatever, it was totally a once in a lifetime opportunity. He’d have never forgiven himself for not taking it.

“Danny and I were going to go Christmas shopping today, did I really cancel my plans for this?” Ethan asks, moving to stand up off the couch.

“Sit down,” Derek barks. “Stiles isn’t lying.”

Seven faces shift from annoyed to bewildered.

“This isn’t news.” Cora informs them all, looking bored. Because she already knew that Santa was real, the traitor. How have the Hales have been sitting on this information for _their entire lives_ and never once mentioned it?

“Wait, Santa is real?” Scott blurts out, eyes wide. He looks like, heh, a kid at Christmas, how appropriate.

“Yes, Scottie, there is a Santa Claus.” Stiles reports, grinning madly. Another collective groan from the pack. Like they wouldn’t have seized that opportunity, too.

“Shut up, Stiles.” Derek says.

He’s probably just jealous he didn’t get to say it first.

“Can we get back to the issue at hand?” Isaac asks, tipping his head back to share a look with Allison.

“Yeah! Dude, Santa Claus is _real!_ ” Scott exclaims.

“Dude, I know!” Stiles returns with equal enthusiasm.

“You know you two are twenty, and not five, right?” Cora shoots from the couch.

“Hey!” Stiles whirls on her. “Just because some of us aren’t on a _first name basis_ with Santa doesn’t mean you can minimize the magnitude of this revelation for the rest of us.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I speak for everyone when I say you two are acting like you’re five.” Cora retorts.

There’s a murmur of assent, and Stiles kind of wishes Scott would alpha-stare them into being as excited as the two of them are about Santa.

“I have so many questions I don’t even know where to start,” Scott moans, falling back onto the sofa.

“How about we start with the reindeer tethered to my front porch?” Derek suggests gruffly.

Oh right, the reindeer.

Stiles had nearly forgotten about the reindeer.

“Right. Okay. We’ll talk Santa later. Big Scary Christmas Problems first.” Stiles refocuses. “Right, so Derek called Santa-”

“Dude!” Scott interjects, because he _gets_ Stiles, even if the rest of his so-called friends don’t.

“ _I know_. Anyway, Derek called Santa, and the good news is, the reindeer does in fact belong to him.”

“How’d it wind up here?” Lydia asks, frowning.

“That’s the bad news. Santa doesn’t really know. But all of its stuff was missing from the stable, which means it was tacked before it left.”

Lydia’s eyebrows shoot up, because she's already connected the dots.

“Why, what does that mean?” Ethan asks.

“It means the reindeer didn’t just get loose.” Stiles explains. “It was stolen.”

“So if it’s in California…” Lydia trails off.

“So is whoever – or whatever – stole it.” Stiles agrees.

Allison sits up sharply.

“Could it have been a human?” She asks, and Stiles can practically see her face slipping into hunter mode.

“No,” Derek jumps in, shaking his head. “No human would be able to locate or enter the area. It’s definitely something supernatural, and probably something that lives near the workshop. Stiles and I are going to look into what it could be, but we wanted you all to be aware that there is something supernatural that doesn’t belong here roaming around. And until we find it, we’re going to assume it’s dangerous.”

Scott nods his agreement, then looks around the living room, where the nine of them are sprawled over sofas and chairs and still not looking nearly as enthused as Stiles was.

Heathens.

“Right, if Derek and Stiles have IDing whatever this is covered, I want Aiden and Cora to patrol the preserve. Maybe it’s close to where the reindeer was found. You said it was tacked when it left the North Pole? Well, the saddle’s probably been abandoned somewhere. Isaac and I will go looking for it; maybe it’ll have a scent or something to help us. Lydia, you know how to ride horses, right?”

“Yes,” Lydia sniffs, as if the concept of not being supremely able to do everything is offensive to her somehow.

“Okay, you and Allison are in charge of the reindeer. Get it somewhere out of sight, and make sure it has everything it needs. Deaton should be able to help you out with feed. Oh, and Ethan? Have fun with Danny this afternoon. We’ll keep you updated.”

Ethan smiles gratefully, heading for the door almost immediately. Everyone else hops to seconds later, until Stiles and Derek are left in the living room alone. Stiles is grinning dopily, because Scott is _so good_ at being Alpha and it still catches him off guard, even three years later.

Derek shoots Stiles an odd look, probably wondering why his heart is beating ten times bigger than it was two seconds ago. But he’s not fooling anyone, because Stiles knows for a fact that Derek is just as proud of their little Scottie.

“He’s so good at that,” Stiles sighs happily, pulling his computer out of his bag. “Don’t you feel awesome whenever he rocks our socks at being an Alpha? Like, you helped make that, dude. We trained him. We coached him. We’re like his _parents_ , if you think about it.”

“How are we anything like his parents, Stiles?”

“I just _told_ you how.”

“You just told me we were his friends. Not his parents. Do you ever think about things before you say them?”

Stiles grins, because he knows Derek well enough at this point that he calls bullshit on the scowl.

“Don’t worry, you can be Daddy, because I’m totally man enough to be his Mom.” Stiles teases. This banter is familiar between them, and Stiles isn’t even embarrassed by the fact that he totally gets off on it.

Not, like, physically. That would be creepy. So much of his relationship with Derek toes the line to creepy already; he doesn’t need jerking off to their teasing to add to the list. His brain gets off on it, he means. He’d say his heart, but come on, he’s not a 13 year old girl.

“There was no part of that sentence that didn’t frighten me.” Derek grouses.

Even so, Stiles doesn’t miss the quirk in Derek’s lips, schooled back to a heavy scowl as soon as Stile’s catches it.

Stiles’s heart squeezes again, but this time for a very different reason. 


	3. I'm telling you why

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one a day early because I'm in a Christmas motherfucking mood, y'all.

Stiles is no stranger to the supernatural. They’ve been dealing with the things that go bump in the night for nearly six years now, and usually, they have it down to a science. That being said, the bestiary doesn’t exactly have a ‘Christmas spirits’ chapter.

“Most of them aren’t malevolent,” Derek informs him, thumbing through one of Stiles’s folklore books while Stiles stares at a Wikipedia page like it holds the secrets to the universe. “It wouldn’t make sense to put the good ones in a bestiary. There’s only one of each, and hunters aren’t out to kill them.”

“Firstly, that’s totally racist, because werewolves aren’t malevolent, either.” Stiles rolls his eyes when Derek levels him with a flat look. “Okay, fine, not _all_ werewolves are malevolent, happy? And secondly, you said _most_ of them. Which ones aren’t about the carols and gingerbread?”

“Santa’s companions.”

Stiles blanches.

“Like the doctor?”

Derek starts to shake his head, then stops himself abruptly like he just realizes he’s not supposed to get the reference. Sighing mightily, he continues anyway.

“Don’t be stupid, Stiles. Santa’s companions are… Stiles, are you listening to me?”

Stiles is not, in fact, listening to Derek. He’s too busy staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Stiles says.

“Of course I do, you moron. I don’t live under a rock.”

“No, you live in a pit of brooding and artful solitude.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing that doesn’t make sense here. Not the fact that _Derek Hale_ , the body-building, eternally woeful werewolf who watches bareknuckle boxing matches on his shitty decades-old laptop to help him fall asleep –”

“It’s calming, there’s not much talking,” Derek defends, but Stiles holds up a hand to silence him.

“Derek Hale, who just referred to brutal fistfights as _calming_ ,” Stiles amends, “also watches _Dr. Who_.”

“I didn’t say I watched it, for fuck’s sake. I just understood your reference. You talk about this shit constantly, it’s unavoidable that I start getting your stupid references.”

“Not a big deal, he says,” Stiles mumbles under his breath, “Just the shit I talk about, he says. He just conveniently knows the things I talk about. Pfft. I call bullshit. I bet you google them, and that’s how you get my 'stupid' references.”

Stiles swears the tips of Derek’s ears go just the tiniest bit pink.

“Can you focus for two seconds?” Derek growls, completely dodging the accusation.

“Fine, but don’t think I didn’t notice that subject change,” Stiles informs him, eyes narrowed. “Because I noticed it. Carry on, then, you liar. Tell me about Santa’s companions.”

Derek sighs and yanks the computer from Stiles, typing something into google before shoving it back to Stiles’s lap.

“The _what_ Rupert?” Stiles asks, not trusting himself to hack through the German words in front of him.

“The Knecht Ruprecht.” Derek says, flawlessly. It’s kind of hot, which is somewhat worrisome. Because there is an evil Christmas monster on the loose, and Stiles doesn’t have time to start thinking about Derek calling out in foreign languages while Stiles slides down his-

Oops.

Looks like his brain doesn’t care if he has time or not.

Derek’s nostril’s flare slightly, a movement Stiles would have missed if it didn’t happen so frequently in Stiles’s presence that he had given up on being embarrassed about it.

“Santa’s companions traditionally travel with Kris,” Derek continues, as though he wasn’t aware that Stiles was thinking about sex right next to him. Therein lie the problem, in fact. Stiles thought about sex _a lot_. Stiles thought about sex with Derek _a lot_. Derek _had_ to know that, but he always ignored it. So Stiles just accepted it as a fact of life, like the fact that the Lydia he loved was a figment of his imagination (but that the real one was much, _much_ better, albeit platonically), and the fact that he’d probably never outgrow having wildly unrequited crushes. “They’re usually the ones who punish the children on the naughty list. Knecht Ruprecht isn’t the only one. He favors beating them with a bag of ashes, but other companions all have their own thing.”

Stiles boggles.

“Santa has a legion of evil sidekicks that _abuse children_?”

“Not anymore,” Derek replies. “Beating kids doesn’t really go over so well with the modern parent. Kris stopped taking the companions along with him, and for the most part, I thought the companions were happy having Kris deliver coal on their behalf. I just hope that whichever companion-” Derek is cut off by his phone buzzing on the table in front of them. He picks it up and flicks through to his messages, Stiles leaning over to try to read over his shoulder. Derek bats him away, and Stiles grumbles and sits back, flicking Derek on the shoulder just to annoy him.

“It’s Cora. She says they smell coal everywhere near where you found the reindeer." Derek frowns.

"Well, do you know what that means?" Stiles prompts, inching closer to Derek again. Derek pushes him back again, and this time Stiles kicks out a leg to stop himself from being jostled. He's flat on his back on the sofa before he can even blink, a muscled arm pressing against his chest and Derek's stupid perfect face inches from his own. 

"Point made," Stiles wheezes. He wriggles to sit up, but Derek isn't moving. They lock gazes, Derek's eyes narrowed, and while Stiles hopes he looks pissed off, he's sure his pupils are blown wide and his cheeks are beyond flushed. Derek's face moves closer, barely a centimeter, and Stiles's stomach clenches, his breath hitching. Surely Derek wasn't about to - 

Derek is off of him suddenly, sitting back on the couch like nothing had just happened. Stiles scrambles to follow, landing on the other end of the couch and scrubbing a hand through his hair to clear his head. 

“It’s one of these companion dudes, isn’t it?” Stiles is very, very proud of himself for forming a coherent sentence without a single crack in his voice. 

“It’s the Belsnickel.” Derek looks completely unaffected, the bastard. Stiles isn't surprised, per se, but he can't help the pang of disappointment. For a fleeting second, he had almost thought... But of course it was in his head. He had just pissed Derek off, same as always. 

“The whositsnickwhat?”

Derek grabs his phone back off of the table and taps through it, pulling up a picture of a dirty looking man in a ratty sherling coat, with a matted beard and face streaked with soot.

“You’re kidding me.” Stiles says flatly. “This is the guy? Don’t tell me, his MO is tracking dirt through the front hall while Santa eats his cookies.”

“This isn’t a joke, Stiles. The Belsnickel is in charge of whipping the children who misbehave while Santa isn’t looking. Kris locked him up decades ago after he whipped one little boy to the brink of death, but last I heard, he had escaped and was hiding out in the North.”

Stiles looks at the screen again, the Belsnickel staring back with a menacing, almost completely toothless grin.

“So basically we’re looking for the Christmas hobo.” Stiles sighs heavily.

“Well, at least Krampus is still locked up, so count your blessings.”

“And Krampus is?”

“Christmas Satan.”

“Ah, of course,” Stiles agrees, banging his head dully against the arm of the sofa. “Of course Krampus is Christmas Satan, why wouldn’t he be.”


	4. He sees you when you're sleeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life advice from MsCee: If someone you love tells you they want to get a PhD, do them a favour and tell them they're WRONG.   
> (This chapter brought to you by the stack of unfinished work mocking me at my desk)

It doesn’t take long for the pack to find the Belsnickel, once they’ve got the scent. They find him in the preserve, hunched over a pile of branches and muttering about finding some rope.

They all stop short about a foot from where he’s cursing the winter spirits for leaving him without a switch, unsure of what to do next.

Stiles would laugh at the confusion on their faces, but he’s a little confused too, if he’s honest. Usually, the baddies go straight for the throat as soon as they get close enough.

“Um.” Scott starts, eyes flitting from the Belsnickel to his bemused betas. “Are we supposed to attack him or something?”

“Aren’t you the one in charge?” Aidan shoots back, because for all he’s supposedly a good guy now, he’s still a challenging asshole most of the time. Never let it be said that Lydia doesn’t have a type.

“Don’t get snarky, asshat,” Stiles jumps to Scott’s defense.

“I’ll get whatever I- ”

“Shh!” Lydia cuts Aidan off with a waved hand. “He noticed us.”

The Belsnickel has, indeed, noticed their group.

“Uh.” Scott tries, staring at the Belsnickel. “Hello? We come in peace.”

“That’s what you’re going with?” Aidan hisses.

“I don’t want to agree with the douchebag, but I have to agree with the douchebag on this one, Scott. We come in peace? Really?”

“I couldn’t think of anything else!”

“Really? Not a single other thing? Because I think literally _any_ other thing would have been less lame than what you just said. Maybe you could have gone with, oh gee, I don’t know, ‘Why’d you steal Santa’s reindeer’, or ‘Who are you’, or ‘I hope that branch isn’t for _killing children,_ or –” Stiles’s diatribe is cut short with a hand clamping over his mouth, an arm catching him around the middle, pulling him back into Derek's chest. He glares up at Derek, who meets his glare with an added measure of _I-have-no-time-for-this-bullshit_.

Like he has better things to do on a Sunday afternoon than save Christmas. Or spend time with Stiles. Or any combination thereof.

Though sometimes, it would be nice for Derek to spend time with Stiles minus the added motivation of saving something.

Maybe just grab a burger or catch a movie, something slightly less potentially fatal than taunting a presumably angry Belsnickel. Who was still approaching their group, brandishing a surprisingly villainous looking stick.

“Well, well.” The Belsnickel croaks as the werewolves crouch instinctively, fangs dropping down. “What have we here?”

Stiles finally pries Derek’s unfairly large hand off of his face, in time to snort at the Belsnickel’s question. “Never mind what I said, Scott. It appears you’ve met your unoriginal opening-line soulmate in this one.”

He ducks out of the way before Derek can grab him again, sidestepping to the other side of the group.

“ _Insolence_ ,” the Belsnickel snaps, eyes narrowing at Stiles. “You are an insolent boy.”

“Pfft,” Stiles snorts again. “I’m an insolent _man_. I’m twenty years old, so excuse you. That’s grown up enough to get married. Hell, it’s old enough to drink, legally! In Canada. Which is where you’re from, right? Hey, how would you like to go back there, instead of trying to top the Baba Yaga on the wicked-witch-of-the-west scale? Because let me tell you, buddy. Being a dude isn’t doing you any favours on the ‘I eat small children’ front. It’s just creepy, y’know?”

“ _Insolence_.” The Belsnickel hisses again. There’s no warning before his makeshift switch is sailing through the air, landing across Stiles’s cheek with a painful _crack_.

“Ow!” Stiles wails, falling flat on his ass as he recoils away from the sting. Another blow lands against his side, and another just under his ear, before the space where Belsnickel was standing is suddenly clear. Stiles is dimly aware of the growling werewolves doing their groove-thang around him, but he’s a little preoccupied by the surprisingly painful gash that opened up on his face.

Merry Christmas to him, indeed.

By the time Stiles scrambles up, Derek has the Belsnickel struggling in vain against him, Scott’s hand wrapped tightly around the creature's neck.

“Jesus, he’s not playing around with that switch,” Stiles grimaces, wiping his bloody fingers off on his jeans.

Derek’s nostrils flare, his eyes narrowing as he takes in Stiles’s face.

“You hurt him,” he grinds out into the Belsnickel’s ear. He must tighten his hold, because the Belsnickel sags slightly, his knees giving as though to wriggle away.

“Nah, dude, I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt,” Derek informs him. “He hurt you.”

“Don’t worry about it, big guy. We’ve got more important things on our plate right now. Like the crazy whipping boy you’re restraining.”

“That’s not what a whipping boy is,” Lydia pipes up helpfully from where the pack is standing around them, watching the scene unfold.

“ _Insolence!_ ” The Belsnickel hisses, the word choking off into a gurgle as Scott’s hand clamps harder around his throat.

“No, Scott!” Stiles pulls at Scott’s arm, trying to loosen his grip. “Let him talk! We still don’t know why he’s here.”

“Insolent boy deserves everything he gets.” The Belsnickel spits as Scott lets go. He’s still struggling against Derek’s grip, but Derek is standing like steel, everything about his posture severe and unyielding.

“I don’t deny that,” Stiles agrees, holding his hands up in surrender. “But it doesn’t tell me why you’re here. Did you come here to find more insolent kids?”

“No!” The Belsnickel shouts. “Do not question me, boy. Do not question my right! You lie, you lie, I can see it in you, how you lie.”

“Yeah, I tend to,” Stiles shrugs. “Call it an occupational hazard.”

“I will find you,” He continues, as though Stiles hadn’t even spoken. Which, not cool, Stiles doesn’t need more supernatural creatures ignoring him. A weaker man would have an inferiority complex, by now. “I will find you, and I will punish you for your lies. You have been naughty!”

“Like, in a sexy way? Because I really haven’t. Wish I have, but totally haven’t. Being single sucks, y’feel me?” Stiles doesn’t have to look around to know that his friends are a second away from clubbing him over the head to forcibly make him stop running his mouth.

“Look, if we can all cool down here,” Scott interjects with a – completely unnecessary – pointed look at Stiles. “We just need to understand why you left the North Pole, Mr – ah – Mr. Belsnickel?”

“Too many naughty boys and girls,” The Belsnickel mutters. “Too many for me, too many to punish. Too many for me, but not for them. Where are they? Do you have them? They will help me. They will be mine, they will see my job done.”

“Wait, who’s going to be yours?”

“This strange place, is it their home? They live by the warmth, and together we will bring this season back to what it must be.”

“Look at me!” Scott growls. The Belsnickel stops mumbling abruptly, stares up at the Alpha with frenzied eyes.

“I must find them,” He whispers. Stiles steps closer, only to have his vision completely obscured by a sudden plume of ash and soot. When it falls, the Belsnickel is gone, and the pack is glancing around nervously, scenting the air for clues to where he might have gone. Stiles looks down, and does a double take.

“Uh, guys?”

Seven heads turn towards him, and Stiles points to the sooty handprint on his shirt, right above his heart.

“This probably isn't good news, is it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other news enjoy your turkeys everybody. Unless you're Canadian, in which case I hope you enjoyed your turkeys in October and have a happy Thursday.


	5. He knows when you're awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man let's just pretend its not April, mmkay?  
> (grumble grumble grad school grumble grumble)

Stiles likes to think of himself as an easygoing kind of guy. He hardly ever complains, except to Derek, and only to Derek because winding Derek up is too much fun. But right now? Stiles feels like complaining.

Because last thing he remembers was falling asleep in his own bed, and now he’s tied to a rock in a freezing cold cave.

Honestly, it took him at least ten minutes to reconcile the fact that he was _actually_ in the cave, and not just locked in an intensely vivid dream.

After coming to terms with the tied-to-a-rock thing, followed closely by the Jesus-Christ-its-cold-why-did-I-choose-to-sleep-in-boxers-and-no-shirt freakout, ended soon after by a because-what-kind-of-paranoid-freak-expects-to-be-kidnapped-in-their-sleep resolution, sidetracked immediately after by a I-wonder-if-Derek-sleeps-in-his-leather-jacket-because-of-said-aforementioned-paranoia tangent… Well, suffice to say that after a short while, Stiles realizes that the most likely candidate for his abduction was their new friend the Belsnickel.

As if on cue, the man (creature?) of the hour strides back into the cave, stopping by Stiles’s rock and crouching down to stare him in the eye.

“You are beyond redemption,” the Belsnickel snaps harshly, a filthy hand grabbing a fistful of Stiles’s hair and yanking his head up.

“Uh, good morning to you too?” Stiles winces at the tug, methodically regretting every decision he had made in his life that has led him to this point.

Even more so when a switch lands across his bare chest, harder than it had the day before.

“A lashing for your insolance,” the Belsnickel taunts, bringing the switch down a second time across Stiles’s shoulder. The third hit is the sharpest, and Stiles actually cries out, trying without success to curl into himself, away from the blows. The Belsnickel stops abruptly after the sixth time, sticking his face back into Stiles’s personal space and staring at him with frenzied eyes.

“Will you continue to lie?”

“About what?” Stiles whines, his muscles clenching and unclenching against the aftershocks of pain through his torso.

“You lie, boy. You lie to your friends, you lie to yourself. But if you help me, if you do not lie to me, perhaps you will be redeemed?”

Stiles is confused, cold, and pretty sure he’s slipping into shock, but if all the Belsnickel wants is information… he can do that.

“Okay! Yes! I’ll help you, I’ll help you, just please put the whip away!”

The Belsnickel cocks his head, but lowers the switch before bending closer to Stiles.

“Your friends are creatures of the night. They are children of Lycaon, I know this. Yet, this is not the land they call Greece, is it?”

“Uh, no? This is the land they call California? In the good old states of definitely-not-Greece. Are you lost?” Stiles ventures, flinching in anticipation of another blow at his question.

“How do I direct myself to Greece, boy?” The Belsnickel snaps, his fingers tightening in Stiles’s hair.

“What? You can’t just – I’m not google maps, dude, and even if I were I doubt you’d be happy with the answer. There’s an entire continent and an ocean between you and Greece. You kind of majorly missed the mark if you were aiming for Greece. Like, super majorly. Probably for the better, because I don’t know what kind of mileage you were gonna get out of Rudolf but I don’t think he’s the kind of reindeer that runs more than 50 to the gallon and let me tell you, the ocean is just a teeny bit bigger than that. But, uh, hey, there are some great beaches in California too, you know. Especially down south? So, uh, if you were headed towards a relaxing beach vacation-”

The crack of the whip cuts him off again, and Stiles cries out as another welt opens up across his bare chest.

“Right, no beach vacation,” He mutters to himself, words coming heavier through the shock he can feel setting in. “Figures you weren’t just wanting to chill a bit, get away from the whole villain schtick.”

“Stupid boy, you don’t know what your friends have been hiding from you in Greece, do you?” The Belsnickel hisses.

“I don’t think it’s hiding so much as complete ignorance of the country of Greece and its inhabitants? I mean, I’m pretty sure the extent of Scott’s Greek trivia is that they eat yogurt. Maybe olives? I don’t know, it’s been a while since we talked about Greece. And by a while I meant forever. Since we never talk about Greece, because why the fuck would we, you batfuck insane Christmas monster?”

“The Kallikantzaros, boy. The Kallikantzaros live there, and I will have them as my own.”

“Okay, seriously? Don’t tell me, this Kallikatzaros guy is a buddy of yours. Jesus H. Christ, I have had enough of this evil Christmas fuckery. I just want Santa back.”

“Spare the rod and spoil the child,” the Belsnickel snaps, brandishing his switch for emphasis. “If Kringle won’t keep them in order, it falls to me.”

Stiles’s brain is muddying quickly, a combination of shock and cold and fatigue and blood loss, but he’s getting the sense that the Belsnickel has more of a plan than they had originally thought.

“So, you escaped to find help to keep the order in Christmas?” He asks with a frown.

“The Kallikantzaros, I hear they exist in the hundreds. Together, we will bring the children what they deserve.” The Belsnickel hisses, his face altogether too close to Stiles’s.

“I still don’t know what your Kalliwhatsits are, but I am increasingly thinking it is a bad idea for you to find the-”

Stiles is cut off by the switch landing hard across his jaw, splitting his lip and knocking his teeth together.

“Fuck!” He cries, spitting out the sudden swell of blood in his mouth. “Okay! I’ll help you get to Greece, for fuck’s sake, just stop!”

The Belsnickel takes a step back, and Stiles knows he’s made the right move. Stiles blinks rapidly a few times, trying to clear his head. It’s not working particularly well, and Stiles can feel himself fading, his head throbbing and his body trembling against the pain. He’s gotta stay conscious, though, just for a bit longer. He needs to keep up the ruse long enough to get out of the cave and stall until someone notices he’s –

_“STILES!”_

Well, apparently his plan is moving ahead of schedule, he thinks dimly, only half registering the roar echoing off the cave walls.

“ _Where the fuck is he?_ ”

Is that Derek? Man, he sounds angry. Poor Belsnickel doesn’t even know what’s about to hit him. Oh, ow, speaking of hitting, when did his head get split open? The Belsnickel whirls away from him to face a wolfed out Derek standing not three feet away, snarling a warning before jumping on the dude teeth first.

Ouch, that’s gotta hurt.

Derek snarls again, jaws snapped tight around the Belsnickel’s neck, and that’s the last thing Stiles sees before the world goes fuzzy, then dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI the Kallikantzaros are little greek gnomes that come out at Christmas time and cause mischief. They're kind of rock dumb and more than a little bumbling, so the Belsnickel is probably not thinking ahead when he plans to build an evil army of them.


	6. Santa Claus is coming to town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES I AM AWFUL I KNOW BUT ITS DONE ALBEIT NOT EDITED IN THE LEAST SHHHH CHILD SHHHH I WILL EDIT IT AND FIX IT EVENTUALLY PROMISE (just like i promised I'd post this before Christmas hahaha whoops sorry I am an awful person)

Stiles wakes up in stages, not wanting to open his eyes until he’s fully sure he’s no longer in a Christmas monster’s evil lair.

Fluffy pillows? _Check._

Shirt? _Check._

He cracks open his eyes.

Derek staring at him intently from his bedside? _Checkholyshitwhat._

“Um, good morning?” Stiles squeaks, jaw snapping shut when he realizes how painful talking is.

Derek leans forward, hands flying immediately to Stiles’s face, tentatively feeling for bruises or cradling it or feeling him up or… Actually, Stiles has no idea what he’s doing. It’s kind of disconcerting. He wants to tell Derek as much, but everything hurts too much, and he’s thinking going back to sleep would be a better option.

“You’re awake,” Derek breathes out, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. Stiles watches him sag against the bed, his hands finally coming to rest over Stiles’s. Hovering, but not quite touching.

Stiles nods, then winces. He feels like he’s been trampled on by all of Santa’s reindeer. And probably Santa himself, for good measure. His hand scrabbles across the bedsheets, grabbing onto Derek’s fingers and pulling him a fraction closer.

He’ll blame being delirious with pain, if anyone asks.

“What happened?” He croaks out.

“Shh, don’t talk,” Derek says. Stiles is pretty sure he’s still asleep, or maybe died and wound up in a parallel dimension, because his Derek doesn’t shush him gently or look at him like _that_ or run his fingers through Stiles’s hair, brushing it away from his face and leaning in like he’s going to –

“STILES!” Someone shouts, and seriously, he’s got to do something about this whole breaking up tension by crazy people yelling for him.

“’Lo, Scott,” he rasps, turning his head away from Derek’s hand and looking at his best friend, who is frozen in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights.

Wolf caught in headlights?

“Um, should I come back later?” Scott asks, eyes darting back and forth between Stiles and Derek.

“Yes,” Derek grits out at the same time that Stiles shakes his head. Stiles turns his head towards Derek again ( _ow_ ) and frowns.

“Why would he come back later?”

Derek doesn’t answer, just frowns and looks at Stiles like someone just told him Santa wasn’t real.

Which, speaking of…

“What happened to the Belsnickel?” Stiles asks again.

“Oh, dude!” Scott bounds forward, crashing into Stiles’s bed and scrabbling up the side like a puppy.

Okay, so Stiles has a problem with dog analogies. He’s only human.

“Derek went totally _feral_ on him, it was sick. Like actually, I almost threw up, it was gross. He didn’t kill him, though, just mangled him up enough that he won’t be able to hold a whip. Um, probably ever again. Anyway, Kris came to get him back to his cell. He was downstairs earlier, but he’s probably got to get going soon, since, you know, Christmas Eve and all.”

“Wait, Santa is downstairs?”

Scott nods eagerly.

“Can I see him?”

Derek makes a noise from beside him. Stiles turns towards him and realizes that since Scott came into the room, Derek moved away, too far for Stiles to touch. Stiles reaches his hand out again, but Derek only looks down briefly before ignoring it and turning back to Scott.

That hurts more than Stiles expected it to, even though he knew full well it was bound to happen.

“Stiles needs to rest right now, he doesn’t need that kind of excitement.”

“But, dude!” Scott whines, “it’s Santa!”

“He can see Santa later,” Derek says firmly.

“Hey! Firstly, Stiles isn’t six, he can decide for himself if he wants to see Santa,” Stiles interjects, shaking his disappointment off and forcing himself to look away from Derek. “Secondly, taking me to see mall Santa ain’t gonna cut it. Send the big guy up, I want to say hi.”

Derek looks like he’s going to argue, but Scott shoots him a funny look and Derek responds in kind, Stiles losing them both to a silent conversation. Derek stands up abruptly and leaves the room, leaving Stiles and Scott alone.

“Dude, don’t scare us like that again. I thought we’d lost Derek, too.” Scott says as soon as he's gone. 

“What do you mean?” Stiles asks.

“When he thought you were in trouble. He went crazy. I’m not kidding, Stiles. I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“Well, he doesn’t want to lose any more pack, Scott.”

Scott frowns.

“That’s not it, and you know it.”

Stiles thinks he has a concussion, because this entire conversation is tripping him out.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but I’m probably not gonna get it anyway right now. Just send Santa in and let me sleep, mkay?”

Scott sighs and shakes his head.

“Sure, buddy.” He leans forward to hug Stiles around the shoulders before leaving the room. Stiles’s mind is still trying to make sense of the past ten minutes, until an old man with a supernaturally bushy beard walks in, jarring him out of his messy thoughts.

“Holy shit, you’re Santa.” Stiles blurts out.

The man chuckles, and it sounds distinctly like there is a ‘ho ho ho’ snuck into it somewhere.

“Holy shit.” Stiles repeats.

“I hear you faced down my Belsnickel quite bravely, my boy.” Santa tells him.

“Yeah well, I wouldn’t have if I had had an option.”

“Still, I owe you a great debt for keeping your cool. You’ve more than earned a Christmas wish. What is it that you want, dear boy?”

Stiles snorts.

“I don’t think it’s exactly Santa Claus friendly,” he mutters before he can stop himself. Santa throws back his head and laughs.

“I don’t think you need to waste your Christmas wish on that.”

Stiles snorts.

“Yeah, ‘cuz Derek’s totally going to have a brain transplant, go insane, and realize he loves me without one.”

Santa just laughs again and shakes his head, and Stiles feels nauseous when he realizes that’s the first time he’s said it out loud.

“Can I keep the reindeer, then?” Stiles asks, trying to change the subject as abruptly as possible. He hopes Derek is far enough into the house that he didn’t hear that. Not that he thinks he’s been subtle about it, but unspoken rejection he can handle. If Derek has to come in and let him down gently, he might ask for the Belsnickel to come back and finish the job.

“How about this instead?” Santa winks, and there’s a sprig of mistletoe hanging above their heads.

“Uh, no offense, dude, but you’re not really my ty-”

“Stiles? You in there?”

Santa throws Stiles another wink, and then he’s gone, leaving Stiles alone under the mistletoe.

Derek steps into the room, relaxing when he sees Stiles.

“Good, you’re here.”

“Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know. I just- You scared me last night. A lot.”

“Well, sorry. It’s not like I asked to be kidnapped and whipped within an inch of my life.”

“Don’t _do_ that,” Derek growls.

“Do what?”

“Act so goddamned blasé about it. You could have been killed, you moron.”

“Kind of an occupational hazard, dude. Probably won’t even be the last time it happens.”

Derek looks like he’s been punched in the gut. A weighty silence settles between them, Stiles feeling distinctly like he’s missing a piece of the puzzle. He wants to move towards Derek, hug him tight, tell him he’ll try harder to stay out of trouble. It feels like the right thing to do, but he _knows_ that’s not what Derek wants. He _knows_ his feelings are one sided, and not for the first time, he really wishes he could forget that.

“I just keep thinking, what if I hadn’t found you in time?” Derek admits, more vulnerable than Stiles has ever heard him sound. Stiles forces himself to shrug, feigning nonchalance.

“I still don’t know how you found me so quickly, this time.”

Derek looks away, and… The tips of his ears go pink?

No, that can’t be right.

“I may have been in the area.”

“Why? None of the pack lives around here except for-”

“You.” Derek finishes for him, staring down at his hands.

“So you were just doing regular patrol?”

“No.”

“So you were coming to see me?”

Derek hesitates, but nods.

“Was it a research thing, or –”

“I needed to make sure you were alright, after what had happened earlier. I couldn’t sleep, because I was so worried that –”

“Because I’m your pack, right? Because you don’t want to – ”

“Because you make me crazy and – ”

They’re talking over each other now, neither of them making sense, and then Derek’s eyes flick upwards to the mistletoe and suddenly everything makes sense.

“Really?” Stiles breathes out, his own eyes skittering from the mistletoe to Derek and back.

“How did you not know?”

“How didn’t _you_?” Stiles counters.

“I did. I was just… Scared.”

“Really?” Stiles asks again, leaning forward. Derek nods, swallows, looks up one last time before leaning forward and pressing his lips against Stiles’s gently.

A noise catches at the back of Stiles’s throat, and his eyes flutter shut as Derek moves even closer, hands coming up to tug Stiles flush against him.

“Really?” Stiles repeats when Derek draws back, resting their foreheads together.

“Ask that one more time and I’ll take it back,” Derek warns.

Stiles grins, stupidly wide, and stares up at the mistletoe above them.

“Nah, you won’t,” he says cheerfully. “Hey, the mistletoe’s still there, that means we gotta make out some more. Santa’s orders.”

Derek snorts, but kisses Stiles breathless again.

 

(It doesn’t take long, since Stiles’s everything still hurts and he should probably be sleeping and recovering, not playing tonsil hockey with a werewolf.)

 

(It’s totally worth it.)

 

-End- 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun facts:  
> When I first told my sister about the plot for this story on gchat, she wrote this:  
> “So basically the whole thing is  
> Stiles: FUUuUUUCK IT’S A REINDEER FUUUUCCCCKKkkkewaffda  
> Derek: OH MY GLOB STILES GRUMP GRUMP GRUMP”
> 
> As usual, she is 100% correct.


End file.
